


A Night to Remember

by JoansGlove



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas party and too much alcohol - what could possibly go wrong???</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Duchess - bless her filthy sewer of a mind <3

Joan arrived at Vera’s already in uniform. Standing next to the tacky Christmas tree she gave it a disdainful sniff as she waited for Vera to pour the drinks. The garish coloured lights twinkled off the high gloss of her black leather riding boots and polished insignia.  
Vera, whilst used to seeing Joan in uniform all the time, found herself unnaturally aroused by this one – Joan looked so incredibly imposing. Vera realised with a sudden chill where she knew the outfit from – it was German SS! A blue mask perched incongruously above the peaked brim of Joan’s black cap and  
Vera curiously eyed the whip that poked from the top of Joan’s tall boot – the handle appeared to have been specially tooled to look like a cock.

“Are we wearing the same outfit?”  
Joan sighed. “No, Vera, I explained – you only have to wear the cap. You have watched the film….?” She pulled a pair of pin striped trousers and a thin T-shirt from the satchel at her feet. “You haven’t, have you?” She sighed again. “Vera,” she let out a small plosive of disappointed exasperation. “How do you expect to expand your horizons if you only stick to what you know hmmm? Well, it’s too late now.” She looked into her glass as if saddened by Vera’s laxity.

The sheer top matched her skin tone almost perfectly and Vera marvelled at Joan’s attention to detail when selecting clothing for her. Catching sight of herself in the over mantle mirror she was embarrassed to see how visible her nipples were through the finely woven fabric; Joan would not allow her to wear a bra.  
“They’ll hardly be noticeable in soft lighting. Anyway, we’ll all be girls together.” Joan smiled encouragingly at her. “No-one will make you feel uncomfortable.” She pulled out a pair of long black leather gloves. “Put your thumbs through the holes in your sleeves – it’ll stop them riding up when you put these on.”

\-----------

The taxi pulled up outside an imposing villa. As Joan handed her from the car Vera could hear music and raucous laughter bleeding from the open windows.

Maggie greeted them effusively at the threshold. “Now let me guess….Of course! The Night Porter - Max and Lucia! Oh you look divine!” The statuesque older woman was dressed as some roman character or other, a golden helmet on her grey head and sword at her broad hip. Vera tried not to stare at the strap-on clearly outlined beneath the folds of her hostess’ skirts.  
Joan looked Maggie up and down. “No, you’ve got me – which goddess are you?”  
“Why Bellona, the sister of Mars. Rather apt don’t you reckon?”  
Joan nodded her agreement and turned to her companion.  
“Vera, I’d like you to meet my old boss, Margaret Ferguson, outgoing Governor of Maidens Grange.”  
“You were her Deputy?” she saw a glance pass between the two tall women.  
“Oh, no, Vera, I transferred to Maggie’s prison with less than five years under my belt. Maggie was Deputy Governor then.”  
“Was that at Blackmoor?”  
“No.” Maggie turned to Joan “You came to me after Blackmoor, didn’t you, Joan?”  
Vera looked at Joan and then Maggie, curious at the slight air of tension that had suddenly descended between them both.  
“After Blackmoor? But I thought that you were Deputy Governor there before you were promoted to Stonepark? How did you…?”  
“Ah, well, you see I started my career in Blackmoor then transferred to Rawmarsh prison to work on my, ah, ‘weaker areas’. I served under Maggie for several years before I was fast-tracked back to Blackmoor as Deputy.  
Maggie continued, her tone lightening again “And I taught you everything I know, isn’t that right, my dear?”  
“Absolutely, they don’t call you the Keeper of the Midnight Walk for nothing. Ah, you know, it’s a shame the cell blocks don’t echo like they used to; the inmates felt your power, knew to shiver in fear as you made your rounds. Good times eh?” She and Maggie exchange a private smile.  
Vera smiled uncertainly at them both, at a loss to the unspoken connection between the two women, her eyes suddenly widening as she realised exactly who Maggie was…..  
Taking charge of Vera Joan ushered her into the throng of uniformed women, each one sporting an outfit related to various fighting forces or conflicts throughout history.

Beyond all expectations, Vera found that she was enjoying herself. She was seeing a different side to Joan – relaxed, chatty, fun! She still retained her air of authority though; the deference to her and Maggie was evident in nearly every woman’s eyes.  
And she herself was the subject of some curiosity amongst the partygoers; Vera discovered that she was one of only two guests that Joan had ever brought to one of Maggie’s soirées. She found that she didn’t feel shy amongst these women, most of whom were connected with Corrections in some way or another, and was able to find out that Joan had once brought a towering butch as her guest. The other women remembered this night for two reasons: firstly because Joan and her friend had been dressed as Nefertiti and Akhenaten and worn only linen kilts and beaded collars, and secondly because Joan and Maggie had had a blazing row – the particulars of which no-one was either willing, or able to divulge. 

Maggie stood with Joan appraising Vera as she joked and laughed with the Deputy Governor of Pentridge. “She’s even more delectable in the flesh isn’t she? I don’t know how you hold yourself back, Joan, I really don’t. Jesus, I’d be riding her every chance I got!”  
“It’s not like that Maggie, you know our situation.” Joan looked wistfully at her partner. “She isn’t ready yet; you were right. But she will be…” She turned to face Maggie. “Speaking of riding…” She grinned dirtily and held up her whip, dropping a lascivious wink at her old mentor.  
Maggie raised her eyebrow. “Tally-ho!” 

\-------------

The party was winding down. Most of the guests had left or gone upstairs to work off their excesses.

Joan and Cynthia were engaged in a friendly drinking contest – vodka naturally – and it was fair to say that they were both slaughtered. Vera never imagined that Joan could be this different away from Wentworth, well, at all really. She wondered how long it would be until Joan was this comfortable with her all the time.  
Maggie called over to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Are you going to sing for us Vera? You’re dressed for the part; won’t you play it for us?”  
“How’s your German, Vera?” Cynthia leered at her from across the room.  
“She doesn’t know the words!” Joan slurred, the vodka having chosen this moment to take control of her tongue.  
“No, but you do, Joan.” Purred Maggie. “You’ll sing it for us won’t you, my clever one?”  
“Ha! Not without the gloves. Never without the gloves!” 

Maggie nodded towards a pretty girl in a WRANS uniform “My leather evening gloves – quickly!”  
“Take the jacket off, Joan, come on. Yes, and the shirt, that’s it…”  
Joan dropped her braces and divested herself of her tie and perfectly pressed shirt. The girl returned with the gloves. Joan stood arms out to her sides as guests pulled the leather sheaths up past her elbows, their fingers lingering on Joan’s smooth, pale skin.  
“Man hat uns nicht gefragt, als wir noch kein Gesicht, ob wir leben wollten oder lieber nicht….” She crooned as she reached for her braces.  
“If you’re going to do it, Joan, do it properly!”  
Joan let her bra fall to the ground and repositioned her braces staring all the time at Vera “..und ich weiß nicht, ob sie mich lieb hat…”  
Vera felt a flush of intense, aching arousal climb her body to her face. Her craving for Joan, her desire to touch those luscious, bountiful breasts, was limitless. Her eyes fluttered away from hard, pink nipples and locked onto Joan’s unfathomable gaze, thighs tightening as she lost herself in its mesmerising thrall.

Her dark, guttural voice floated over each guest in turn as Joan worked the room, teasing some, ignoring others.  
As the song neared its end Joan swung her long, beautifully booted leg over Maggie and sat straddling her lap. “Denn wenn ich gar zu glücklich wär', hätt' ich Heimweh nach dem Traurigsein.” She took Maggie’s hands and placed them firmly over her breasts before leaning in and kissing the older woman long and hard.  
Jealousy flashed in Vera’s eyes; Cynthia noticed and gave her a knowing look, a smirk playing on her thin lips.

“Do ‘Money’ from Cabaret!”  
Joan dismounted from Maggie, shimmying her shoulders. Her breasts jiggled alarmingly at an appreciative audience. She staggered back; landing heavily in Maggie’s lap, bursting into a fit of giggles. “No! I can’t!”  
Vera looked on enviously as Maggie cradled Joan in her arms, her face buried in Joan’s fragrant neck, the pale skin exposed by her tight French plait that restrained the thick, glossy mane of hair. 

Vera hadn’t meant to spy on them after they disappeared into a guest room but the door was ajar and they were just there….directly in her line of sight – what could she do? She drank deeply from her glass, needing something to relieve the sudden dryness in her mouth.  
Joan was on her knees sucking Maggie’s cock, gagging as it was forced down her throat, her hand ramming the handle of her whip deep inside Maggie.  
Vera looked on through the crack in the door – the sight of Joan, topless, blowing Maggie was extraordinarily hot, she clenched her thighs together as her face began to burn with arousal. Her stare was drawn to Joan’s magnificent breasts as they swayed with her efforts, her stiffened pink nipples jutting out from impossibly pale peaks. She took another long swallow from her wine glass to steady herself.  
Cynthia moved in close behind her, pushing her hand up inside Vera’s shirt and grabbing her tit. “She never could master her gag reflex,” she whispered, “but I bet you have! I bet you’re a cracking little cock sucker!” Cynthia’s other hand fondled her arse. “Looks like they’ll be busy for a while, why don’t we have a bit of fun eh?” Her vodka soaked breath crashed in Vera’s ear.  
Vera spun round, disengaging the unwanted paws.  
“Come on, Vera, don’t be a tease!” Cynthia’s hand landed on her left breast and its partner worked its way down the front of her loose trousers, slipping between her legs.  
“Do I have to remind you who I arrived with?” she asked haughtily. “If I wanted a second rate imitation I would have come with you!” She pushed the drunken dyke away and turned back to watch the astonishing scene unfold.  
Tears streamed down Joan’s cheeks and snot ran from her nose as Maggie drove her cock into Joan’s mouth, sliding it the length of her tongue and down her throat. Joan hung onto Maggie’s broad arse as her other hand moved furiously against her grizzled cunt. Vera could hear her fist slapping against Maggie’s wet lips.  
Vera’s thighs clenched as the tingling between her legs erupted into a burning torrent of desire; it felt like she was sitting in hot oil, her inner lips were suddenly so swollen, her clit aching and throbbing, desperate for direct attention.

Joan shuffled forward on her knees, pushing Maggie backwards till her legs hit the edge of the bed, forcing her to sprawl splay-legged, wet cock bouncing above her belly with the momentum.  
Her hand snaked inside Maggie’s loose robe and grabbed her breast, massaging the soft mound while she held the greenish-hazel gaze of her mentor with dark, watery eyes; her head bobbed as her mouth secured the cock and moved it against Maggie’s clit and worked the whip in and out of the slippery cunt of her former tutor. The older woman gasped and ground her hips with determination, reaching to the back of Joan’s head and grabbing a handful of dense plait, muttering encouragement as Joan choked and slobbered over the strap-on. 

Vera drank in the sight of Joan’s sinuous naked back rising from the curvaceous seat of her black breeches, how she lovingly fondled Maggie; her eyes travelled further and met Maggie’s insolent stare. Shit! Vera blushed a scalding red as shocked embarrassment roiled in the pit of her stomach.  
Maggie licked her lips and grinned lasciviously, gesturing with a slight thrust of her chin and flick of her amused eyes that Vera should leave them to it. 

The erotic events of the last few minutes scrolled across Vera's fevered mind as her bare hand worked busily between her shaking thighs. She pushed her arse into the bathroom door as she bent forward, her fingers flying over her ridiculously swollen clit.  
Fuck! She would never forget the memory of Joan sucking Maggie’s cock! Smearing a handful of silky fluids over her hard nub she imagined how it could have been if Maggie had beckoned her inside instead of dismissing her; how she might have pressed her mound into Joan’s resilient arse, how she could have rubbed her hard nipples against Joan’s strong back as she reached round to finger her slit, how she would have loved to suck on Maggie’s cock whilst Joan fucked her with her whip handle and hot mouth….. ffuuuckkk! Her cunt clenched suddenly and she slid into helpless orgasm, knees buckling as she sagged under the force.  
When she finally opened the door she was startled to find Cynthia casually leaning against the frame. “I could have helped you out in there you know, Vera.” She leered and caught a strand of Vera’s hair between her fingers. “You could have had twice the fun!”  
“Oh fuck off, Cynthia!”

\----------

Maggie saw them off at the gate, the farewell shots still raw in their throats.  
Joan sat tangled in the seatbelt. The taxi driver wouldn’t set off until they were both secured.  
“Here, Joan, let me…”  
“Leave me alone! I can do it!”  
“Yeah, I don’t think you can. There we go…” Vera’s tone was one of a mother talking to their infant. As Joan scowled at her Vera was reminded of a sulky pre-schooler.

Joan burst through the front door leaving Vera to remove the keys from the lock and close it. She sat - almost dropped onto the bottom of the stairs and began to futilely tug at her boots. “Bloody things! You do them, Vera. Here” she stuck out her leg, rotating her foot left and right as she squinted at the shine. Joan began to pull her shirt tails out, abandoning them as the first tug from Vera threatened to unseat her. Try as she might Vera could not get Joan’s boots off.  
Joan flailed her arms as she twisted onto her hands and knees and scrambled up the stairs. Missing her footing she slid back down to where Vera stood.  
“Come on, let’s get you to bed. The irony of the situation was not lost on Vera – she, the small, traditionally inconsistent woman, for once the clearer headed of the two of them supporting the famously controlled Joan Ferguson, incapable through drink, up her own stairs.

Bob the goldfish looked on open-mouthed from the splendid isolation of his pristine bowl, thoroughly aghast at the spectacle his mistress was making of herself.

They crashed through the door of the spare room. In a forbidden chamber at the end of the landing a recording device hummed into life.  
Vera had no desire to enter Joan’s bedroom – permission had most definitely not been granted and she could always explain to Joan that it was the easiest option given the circumstances if she should argue the toss over waking up in the sleigh bed. 

Vera flipped the lights. Blinking against the sudden glare Joan stood swaying in the middle of the room. The long box had been pushed under the windows and the small table at the foot of the bed was bare.  
“Right, get undressed.” She leant against the wall, grateful of its support.  
Joan looked at her owlishly. “..’s not my room!”  
“If you think you can make it there then be my guest.” Vera indicated to the open door.  
“Ha!” The black jacket slithered to the floor and Joan very carefully undid the buttons of her brown shirt, finding it necessary to close one eye to focus on the complex task.  
Vera could not hide her mirth as she watched Joan struggle to free her arm from the tangle of shirt and elastic strap “Oh, Joan, look at the state of you! Come on, let me help.” Wobbling a little Vera made it to where Joan stood swaying unsteadily, and tugged at the offending garment. She ogled Joan’s bare breast so close to her face; Joan had neglected to replace her bra after her impromptu performance at Maggie’s party. Hooking a finger behind the strap she slid the shirt off Joan’s shoulder making the most of her opportunity to touch the forbidden skin. She did the same to the other half of the shirt and pulled it down Joan’s long back, temporarily restraining her arms to her sides. Vera stepped back enjoying the view.  
A wicked thought entered Vera’s head and she slowly pulled the braces away from Joan’s breasts, before letting them snap back into place against Joan’s beautiful tits.  
Joan gasped.  
“These are nice.” She casually commented, running her hands up and down the woven straps, her fingers sliding between them and Joan’s velvety skin. Vera pulled at the straps again, increasing the tension in the thick elastic until she felt Joan lean back in counterbalance. Releasing them, Vera was startled by the sharp snap of taut brace striking bare skin. It sounded painful.  
Joan stood open mouthed – torn between reprimanding Vera and encouraging her to continue. The pleasant sensations in her nipples meant she was tending towards the latter.

Vera made the decision for her, she pulled at the elastic again watching how Joan’s nipples stiffened in anticipation. Joan gasped in pleasure at the stripes of pain Vera delivered. Vera snapped them a few times more and moved on to flicking Joan’s nipples through the heavy material loving how Joan squirmed like a naughty girl.  
Her hands found their way to Joan’s fly, pulling at the buttons till the fabric separated and slackened the tension on her entertaining braces. Vera slipped them from Joan’s shoulders and the heavy pants and crumpled brown shirt slid over her haunches to reveal fine black lace underwear, darkened at the junction of her thighs by Joan's thick mass of hair. 

No-one had thought to release the buttons contouring the breeches to Joan’s knees and they belled around her booted shins. The absurdity of her appearance suddenly hit her and she burst out laughing.  
Pushing Joan back onto the bed Vera slowly teased her as she slipped out of the majority of her own costume, choosing to retain the gloves and cap. The high cuffs of her gloves whispered against her skin as she lifted Joan’s shapely calves in turn from where they dangled over the edge of the bed and tugged at the breeches, navigating the glossy leather and succeeding in rendering her almost naked.  
The unsteady women stared at each other. 

She stood between Joan’s legs, bent over and planted her hands on Joan’s milky thighs. Her lips were millimetres away from the dark crimson slash of Joan’s mouth.  
“Vera, stop it…”  
“You wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of me if the tables were turned.” She breathed heavily into Joan’s face. “Go on - admit it. You’d be fucking me as soon as you could!” She slid one hand higher, dipping it into the narrow space between Joan’s legs. “You’ve teased me long enough!”  
“I’m your Governor,” she slurred, “Vera… you know the agreement…” A faint look of panic painted itself on her face.  
“Not at the minute you’re not. We’re not at work… not for the next four days. Anyway, you’re too drunk to argue and I’m too fucking hot to care.” She kissed Joan, teeth clashing with the poorly timed lunge.  
“Vera!”  
“Don’t tell me you don’t like it!” She pulled her hands away and stood back pouting, arms crossed beneath her breasts, pushing them together in a half frame of leather.  
Joan licked her lips.  
“You don’t have to be so defensive, Joan – what do you think is going to happen eh? Do you think you’ll lose all your power like Samson? It won’t make you a weaker person. Anyway, you coped well enough the last two times I touched you.” Her speech was spoilt by a sudden sideways lurch as the farewell shot of absinthe kicked in.

Vera leant forward again, feeling the woozy surge of drunkenness propel her further than intended. Her hands landed on Joan’s hipbones and her shoulders crashed into Joan sending them sprawling on the bed.  
Wasting no time Vera clambered over Joan’s thighs; her pubic hair catching on lace as she laid her hands on Joan’s large breasts, pushing them together as she rubbed her own small teats over the firm mounds.  
Joan’s large hands cradled her face. They smelt of soap but there was an underlying odour of sweaty musk, Vera’s eyes widened at the realisation that it was Maggie’s essence she was inhaling.  
She slipped her gloved hand into the hot space between their cunts, fingers forging a path inside a knicker leg to Joan’s slippery vagina. Her fingers felt strange, numbed by alcohol, dulled by leather yet she could feel every contour of Joan’s swollen sex before they sank deep into her hot core. Vera rubbed her clit against her gloved wrist, gripping Joan’s breast for support, the hard nipple tickling her palm.

“Vera! No….!” Joan pushed apathetically at Vera’s chest, her half-hearted protestations trailing away as the small woman rocked atop of her. She was too aroused to put up an effective fight but was too drunk to appreciate Vera's efforts properly. This shouldn’t be happening but her resolve had been obliterated by that final nightcap and it just seemed easier to capitulate than to maintain the tantalising power play.  
She moaned as Vera stretched her wide, the heel of her small thumb massaging her clit with sticky leather clad persistence.  
"Yeah, I know you like that …. And this!” Vera clamped her jaws round Joan’s stiff nipple, biting down hard on the plumpness, sucking deeply on the captured flesh as she shook her head from side to side in her enthusiasm. She was rewarded by Joan’s body arching up into hers, her thighs grinding into Vera’s arse as she pushed her cunt into the dainty hand.

Vera wanted to make Joan beg, she wanted to tease her like she had been teased so many times before Joan had allowed her to come. She pulled her damp hand away; Joan’s creamy wetness had soaked through the thin, absorbent leather, plumping up the fine grain and moulding it to her fingertips and palm. The black hide gleamed with slippery secretions and she spread her wet fingers across Joan’s mouth, splaying them on the soft, swollen lips, sliding them inside as Joan gasped, transferring musky juices to her twitching tongue.  
Joan sucked hard on Vera’s fingers, the taste of leather and her own cunt made her mouth water and she licked greedily at the intruding digits, running her tongue between them, rubbing her swollen lips against Vera's knuckles. She reached out a heavy hand and grabbed at Vera's tit, her eyes widening in surprise as Vera knocked it aside and clambered up her torso to sit on her chest, bony shins pinning her upper arms to the bed, cold toes pressing into her ribs.  
Vera rubbed her dripping snatch against Joan’s breastbone. “See what you do to me Joan? You make me so hot for you I can barely stand it! But you don’t get to have me tonight.”  
She reached behind her and ran her fingers up Joan’s cleft, leather skating over the stretched lingerie before grabbing a handful of lace and hair and tugging hard.  
Joan raised her head with a long moan and raked Vera’s body with her wildly glittering black eyes, taking in Vera’s triumphant expression, her pert, jutting breasts, her heaving belly and wet fur framing her glistening lilac frills. She groaned deeply as Vera yanked harder, the silken lace scraping against her throbbing clitoris and her mons burning as the ebony curls were pulled taut in Vera’s tight grip.  
Letting go, Vera shifted position and lunged at Joan’s open mouth, her tongue filling the moist void and her hot hands feverishly rubbing over Joan’s broad chest and shoulders, working their way down to her stiff nipples.

Vera kissed her way along fiery skin to Joan’s tits, delighting in their softness. She nipped the delicate skin between her teeth, making Joan hiss and writhe beneath her; she slid lower, softly biting a line to Joan’s navel where she dipped her tongue into the hollow, pushing it hard against the underlying muscle then tracing the delicately banked edges as Joan mumbled faintly for her to stop.  
Pushing away Joan’s feebly protesting hands she worked her way down her rounded belly, the fine skin stippled with transparent hairs, breathing deeply as her head swam. Clumsy fingers pulled at the waistband of Joan’s ruined knickers and dragging them unevenly off the wide, shining hips she buried her face in the dark triangle of sweaty thatch as she slid over the edge of the mattress, her naked toes pushing against the polished floor to maintain the delicious contact.  
She traced the damp divide of Joan’s silver shot bush with her nose, inhaling the exotic fragrance as the soft hairs tickled her parted lips. She was filled with joy when Joan pushed her cunt towards her face. YES! Joan wanted her!  
Eagerly spreading Joan’s outer lips with her thumb and forefinger Vera began to lap at the hot flesh, her mouth watering at the rich taste of Joan’s juices. Her stomach lurched and her throat constricted. It wasn’t Joan that was flooding her mouth with saliva. The sudden awareness that she was going to be sick propelled her to the en-suite with impressive speed.  
When Vera sheepishly emerged, shaky and pale, she found Joan fast asleep across the bottom of the bed, boots still hanging off the edge. Vera dragged Joan’s feet up onto the mattress and covered her comatose form with the heavy gold brocade before crawling over her and sliding under the thin blanket.

She was woken by a movement next to her. Sunlight steamed through the windows illuminating Joan’s sinuous back and curvaceous buttocks as she slid off the bed and carefully made her way to the open door, still wearing her glossy knee-length boots.

Towelling her wet hair Vera followed the smell of coffee. She paused as she rounded the foot of the stairs; there was a pair of novelty antlers perched on the goldfish’s bowl - where the fuck had they come from? She shrugged to herself deciding that she didn’t really care and continued towards the vital elixir.  
Joan sat at the dining table, head in her hands, her own damp, tousled mane curtaining her pale face. She looked up as Vera sat down beside her.  
“Want some?”  
Vera gratefully poured a cup. The bitter brew scalded her raw throat, reminding her of her last night’s reckless and then unfortunate turn of events. “Erm, about last night….ba, back here I mean….”  
Joan blinked slowly. She looked in pain. “Vera, last night never happened.” She took a deep swallow from her cup and looked away.


End file.
